


Inferno e Genesis

by SnowyWolff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Clubbing, M/M, Music, Romance, mostly progressive rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: “You know,” Gilbert said casually, picking upMoonmadnessto have something to hold, “Joe Jackson is at the front.”Golden eyes glanced at him, quickly travelling down to Gilbert’s Kraftwerk shirt, ripped jeans and tattered All Stars. He raised a carefully plucked eyebrow when their eyes met again.“I’m more of an Elvis Costello fan, really,” he answered, his voice deeper than anticipated.***In which Gilbert is a prog rock nerd and so is Lovino apparently.





	Inferno e Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Blame this fic on my dad and his upbringing. 
> 
> List of albums and bands below so you don't have to hurt your finger scrolling <3
> 
> Fic title a combination of the album _Inferno_ and the band Genesis as a play on both being prog rock and biblical names of some form.
> 
> Emma - Belgium  
> Daan - the Netherlands  
> Gabriel - Luxembourg  
> Emanuel - Portugal

The twenty-eighth was always Gilbert’s favourite day of the month. It was the day after his pay was added to his bank account and it allowed for Gilbert to make his monthly trip to the old record store on the corner of his street.

Today was the lucky number in September after a long, dull summer of not going. With his dependency on employment agencies, he sometimes found himself without a job. The summer had been unexpectedly slow and he hadn’t been able to afford a single cent toward other expenses.

So as he stepped inside the store and bid Gerald, the owner, a good day, he had vowed to spend his entire day riffling through records and listening to Gerry’s picks of the day on the age-old headphones littered around the place.

It was still early, so it was pretty much empty. Just two men on opposite sides of the store, one looking at the old jazz collection by the door while the other stood all the way in the back, staring at the progressive rock. Interesting.

The man was tanned with short brown hair meticulously gelled to give it the pretence of no effort. The strangest bit about this man’s appearance in correlation to his position in the store was the three piece suit he wore. It was velvet red in colour, accentuating his skin and fitting his body well. Gilbert had to pull his gaze up to safer territory.

Gilbert sidled up to him, curiosity peaked. The man was holding _Foxtrot_ by Genesis, the fox gaining a critical eye from him as he took the cover in. _Very_ interesting.

“You know,” Gilbert said casually, picking up _Moonmadness_ to have something to hold, “Joe Jackson is at the front.”

Golden eyes glanced at him, quickly travelling down to Gilbert’s Kraftwerk shirt, ripped jeans and tattered All Stars. He raised a carefully plucked eyebrow when their eyes met again.

“I’m more of an Elvis Costello fan, really,” he said, his voice deeper than anticipated. The accent did nice things to Gilbert. “That is, for new wave anyway.”

He replaced the album he was holding for _Secret Treaties_. He flipped the cover, reading the listed songs.

Gilbert grinned. “Not a fan then?”

“How’d you guess?” The man didn’t even look up.

“Emerson, Lake and Palmer?” Gilbert offered _Trilogy_ once the man returned Blue Öyster Cult to the others.

He blinked and Gilbert almost thought he saw the hints of a tiny smile. “Already own everything.”

“You’re joking?”

“First collection I completed,” the man said proudly.

“Shit, I’m jealous.” Gilbert sighed, scanning over the covers for nothing in particular.

The man shot him a cursive glance, the flash of gold distracting Gilbert long enough for him to blurt out his name.

“Gilbert.”

“What?”

“Name.” Gilbert coughed. “My name. That is. Gilbert. Yep.”

He wanted to slap himself. Fucking smooth, Beilschmidt.

The man watched silently as Gilbert frowned at the records. His expression was strangely blank, as if he was trying to figure out what Gilbert was trying to pull.

Truth be told, Gilbert didn’t know either.

“Lovino,” the man said then, reaching to brush his hair. He stopped short however, seemingly remembering its neat state, and dropped his hand back to his side.

Gilbert grinned, leaning just a little closer. This had to be the green light to continue, right? “Let me guess, Italian?”

Lovino scoffed. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, well, the hair, the tan, the accent.” Gilbert waggled his eyebrows. “The temperament.”

Lovino pursed his lips, giving him this unimpressed look. “And you’re unobtrusively German.”

“What gave it away?” Gilbert couldn’t stop his smile from growing as Lovino turned fully toward him, giving him another unabashed once over. “My incredibly handsome looks?”

“They’re average at best,” Lovino said, but there was definitely a smile now. “But I’d say the dead hair, deathly skin and German name are a good indicator.”

“Ouch.” Gilbert waved a dismissive hand, filling the gap between them just a little more to get a better view of those golden eyes. Lovino didn’t step back. It made Gilbert a little ecstatic. “It can't be all bad, can it?”

Lovino placed a hand on his hip and gave him this dubious look that spoke volumes on how it probably really was all that bad. He took his sweet time thinking of something to say, licking his lips as if it was a particularly interesting challenge.

“I suppose,” he said slowly and, to Gilbert’s absolute delight, reached up to slowly trace a finger across the muscle on his arm, “these aren't half-bad.”

Gilbert swallowed thickly, wondering if Gerald would mind very much if he started making out with Lovino right then and there in the middle of the store. He took a shaky breath, trying to get a better grip, and decided to steer back to safer territory. There was plenty of time for other things after getting to know Lovino a little better.

“So, what are you doing in Germany?” Gilbert asked. He tried to be casual about it, but he knew it was unconvincing.

Lovino seemed a little thrown by the question. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, seemingly wondering what to answer, or deciding whether to answer at all.

Then, the moment was broken when the other man still browsing in the jazz section (though he was edging dangerously close toward new wave now) coughed and Lovino startled as if slapped. He took a careful step back, as if he suddenly remembered personal space existed and his eyes fell back on the old records.

“Business. My brother.” Lovino shrugged, but the nonchalance was forced. He let his fingers slide across the old covers, eyes instantly guarded. “Not being in Italy.”

“Something happen?” Gilbert faintly realized he was pushing boundaries, but he felt as if he was too invested already.

“Life.” Lovino gave him a look, very much aware of what Gilbert was trying to pull. Yet, he added, “Sometimes we can’t do what we’d like to.”

Gilbert watched Lovino’s carefully blank expression, understanding his sentiment very well. He once had the dream of having his own record shop like this one, but after he was forced to take care of his seven-year-old brother at barely eighteen years of age himself, he had quickly forgotten about dreams. Any job that could bring bread to the table and get Ludwig to school was all Gilbert cared about.

“Amen,” he muttered, turning back to the records as well. He suddenly felt a lot more like buying a Smiths’ album or something similar. Depressive eighties were a wonderful way to drown melancholy.

He watched Lovino’s fingers pick through the old covers, occasionally pausing but never settling. Gilbert couldn’t help but see those fingers spread on piano keys, playing the same classic muck Roderich used to play before he picked up the violin. Or perhaps “Firth of Fifth” would be better considering Lovino’s apparent taste.

The conversation had officially petered out, but Gilbert felt reluctant to leave it like this. It was depressing.

Then Lovino’s fingers paused and he breathed an interested, “oh.” He deftly picked up the album, inspecting it the same way he had _Foxtrot_.

Gilbert didn’t recognize the cover art and he didn’t get a chance to read the name of either album or band as Lovino flipped it around.

“What’s that?” Gilbert found himself asking.

Lovino glanced at him. So, he hadn’t forgotten he was there then. That was good. And better yet, Lovino passed him the record, their fingers brushing. The blush that flushed Lovino’s cheeks didn’t go unnoticed, but Gilbert felt his eyes drawn to the record first.

The cover was a strange combination of photography and art. The background was a picture of icebergs with conceptual drawings of human figures sitting on or hanging from them. Clashing against the white, blue and grey were the red letters spelling _Inferno_. The back revealed song titles in Italian.

“Metamorfosi?” Gilbert glanced at Lovino, but he was staring at his phone, lips pressed in a thin line. “You okay?”

Lovino didn’t say anything. He just pocketed his phone, brushed a hand through his meticulous hair, and turned on his heels. He paused though, and glanced quickly at Gilbert. “Sorry,” he muttered and walked off.

Gilbert was so stunned by the defeated tone in Lovino’s voice that he didn’t realize he was gone until the door closed. It was so final that Gilbert couldn’t force his legs to walk after him and forcibly ask him what was wrong.

So he sighed and stared down at the record in his hands. Somehow he felt it was his fault Lovino had left, even if he hadn’t done anything strange at all.

Not feeling particularly in the mood anymore for his original plan, Gilbert was about to return the album back among the others, but something stopped him. Frankly, it compelled him, as a silly memento of Lovino.

In the end, he bought it.

He stood outside, plastic bag in hand, wondering what the hell to do now. He didn’t feel like going home yet, even if the urge to play the record was making his fingers itch.

Instead he took a detour by Elizabeta’s cafe, dropping down in a chair outside with a defeated huff. She took one look at him before walking back inside, returning five minutes later with two hot coffees and a piece of apple pie to share. She set it all down on the table and dropped down in the seat opposite him.

“Spill,” she ordered, attacking the pastry with one of the two forks she had brought.

“You just brought it,” Gilbert said, grinning over the rim of his mug. Eliza kicked him. “Hey, shit, nothing’s wrong! I’m just in a bit of a weird mood.”

“I figured as much. Don’t you normally spend the day in that little record store you love so much?”

Gilbert nodded mutely. He glanced at the plastic bag underneath the table and his mind immediately jumped to Lovino. Would he ever see him again? As stupid as it sounded, Gilbert really hoped he would. Beside being handsome as hell, the guy had a good taste in music (and Gilbert would never say no to anyone having a complete ELP collection).

“I met someone.” He winced at how silly that made him sound, so he continued quickly, “Like, in the record store, there was this guy. He totally looked like some uptight business man mixed with a Joe Jackson song, golden tan and blow-wave included. You’d never guess where he was browsing.”

He leaned forward eagerly as Elizabeta stirred her coffee. She thought for a moment.

“I suppose not Joe Jackson.”

“Prog rock, Eliza!” He sat back, gesturing wildly as he did so. “This Italian dude that looks like a Roman god in a tight suit is observing Genesis albums as if he’s holding pearls.”

“And you talked?”

“Yeah! Not much, but I know his name, that he has all ELP albums and dislikes living in Germany.” Gilbert picked at the pie as he trailed off. “He left before I could ask for his number though.”

“And you got the hots for him,” Eliza stated with a snort. “Gilbert.”

He whined. “He was so cute.”

“And you probably won’t see him again.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do,” she said wisely, knowingly.

Gilbert sighed, drinking his coffee and placing the empty cup on the table with a final _thunk_. “I guess.”

Eliza watched him for a moment, then turned in her seat and shouted, “Antonio!”

A moment later, Antonio bounded outside, tray underneath his arm and a towel slung across his shoulder.  He broke into a smile when he saw Gilbert. “Oh, hey, Gil! What’s up?”

Eliza waved his politeness away immediately, not even giving Gilbert a chance to reply. “Gil’s a bit down in the dumbs. Weren’t you going out with friends tonight? Gil can come, right? He could really use a pick-me-up.”

Antonio blinked, but then grinned. “Of course! We’re going to check out this new club on main street. Lucky something. Meet me there at eight!”

Antonio was off before Gilbert could even form a protest. He glared at Eliza instead.

She shrugged. “You need a distraction. Here you go. So put on some nice clothes and hit up a cute twink on the dance floor.”

Gilbert sputtered. “I’m not into twinks!”

“Go have fun, Gilbert,” Eliza said. She smiled, patted his hand and stood to collect the plate and empty cups.

As she wandered back inside, Gilbert sat a little longer at the table. After some more sulking and a warning from Eliza that she would kick his ass if he stayed any longer without buying anything, he returned home.

Dropping the bag on the table, Gilbert fell onto the couch. He was still conflicted about actually playing the album. There was something strangely intimate about it, even if Gilbert knew almost nothing about Lovino at all.

He groaned and rolled over, almost falling off the couch. He supposed he should put on something to fill the silence because his thoughts weren’t helping at all. So he actually rolled off the couch, catching himself, but tripped over his coffee table as he took a step. When he finally made his way to his honestly humble collection of records, rubbing his foot and muttering curses, he found himself drawn to _Nina Hagen Band_. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t even bought it; Ludwig had as a strangely uncharacteristic housewarming gift last year.

He had played it once before, but as “TV-Glotzer” started, he realized he hadn’t done it justice at all.

At first he simply nodded along, but it quickly evolved to full-out dancing and over-the-top air guitar solos. As “Unbeschreiblich weiblich” rolled into its lyrics, Gilbert unabashedly sang along, in disregard of the fact that he was the furthest removed from the subject. But the way Hagen played around with her voice made Gilbert giddy and he had no trouble dipping and rising along with her (though Roderich would certainly have a complaint on the quality of his voice).

He collapsed in a chair thirty minutes later, the record having finished its run. He figured he should send Ludwig a text with a thank you and a heartfelt declaration that Gilbert had raised him right after all.

***

Later that evening, Gilbert ordered take-out, eating from a plastic container. Legs stretched out on the coffee table, he stared at the TV, wondering how tipsy he should get before he would meet Toni. He figured just the one beer. Toni had some strange friends and Gilbert, for once, didn’t feel like being the centre of attention (immediately).

He kind of wanted to spite Eliza and just go in his current attire because there really wasn’t anything wrong with. If anything, it would filter out people with bad taste immediately. His ego won out in the end though, and he stumbled to his closet. Having no idea what kind of club this Lucky business was, he wondered for far too long what to wear. It was a little embarrassing.

He settled for something semi-decent, mind falling traitorously back to Lovino’s suit. He rolled up the sleeves of the nice dress shirt he had worn a grand total of once before at his brother’s graduation and patted down his only pair of slim-fitted black jeans. Turning this and that way in the mirror, he felt marginally better about going out because he looked fucking stunning. People would fall over their feet to get a piece of him.

At exactly eight, Gilbert stood outside of Lucky Eight, which he thought was a stupidly amazing coincidence. He wondered if Antonio simply messed up time and place, but figured it wouldn't matter either way.

Not when Antonio came up to him five minutes later, grinning and gesturing to the four he had brought with also. His brother, Emanuel; a friend from college and her brothers, Emma, Daan and Gabriel; and a close childhood friend he introduced as Francis. They passed introductions quickly before Antonio dragged them toward the bouncer and into the club.

Gilbert should have figured it was the kind of loud and popular business that he wouldn't have minded if it wasn’t for the baseless bass assaulting his eardrums. He almost regretted leaving home as he followed the group through the people on the dance floor until they reached an empty booth at the far end of the club. They sat while Antonio and Daan left to get drinks.

“So, Gilbert,” Emma said, leaning closer to be heard over the music. “What made you tag along tonight?”

Gilbert didn’t feel like indulging these people in his pathetic crushes, so he grinned, deciding that lying was his best course of action. He laid his arm across the backrest of the booth. “Well, you know. I was bored and felt that I should give people the opportunity to observe _the_ Gilbert Beilschmidt in action.”

Emma smiled and if Gilbert had been straight, he might have been fine hooking up with her. But as it was, all his mind could think of was temperamental Italian and he hoped to fucking God that Antonio would return with something that would fuck him up enough to forget.

“Toni said Eliza set you up with us, meaning you’re part of the pity party,” Emanuel said, eyes moving to Gilbert’s left where he could see the dance floor.

“Pity party?”

“No one goes to a club like this to find the love of their lives, my dear,” Francis said with a small, knowing smile.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, catching Emanuel doing the same. Anyone finding the love of their lives was a sappy asshole and Gilbert didn’t do sappy asshole. He did suave pick-up lines that got Italian men falling over their feet for him.

Maybe he should be glad that this wasn’t a club playing “classics” because Gilbert was fairly sure he’d have a stroke if Joe Jackson or Elvis Costello would start playing.

Toni and Daan reappeared with drinks then. Various colours of mixes and fruity flavours were presented to them and Gilbert stared at his dark blue drink dubiously. It looked like something that could light on fire if he held a lighter next to it.

After a tentative sip, he supposed it wasn’t that bad. Very fruity, but he caught the hint of vodka burning his throat, so he supposed it would get him considerably drunk if he didn’t watch out.

Others started to slowly disperse toward the dance floor, but Gilbert quickly found himself pulled into a conversation with Francis and Antonio. Even if they seemed to share few interests, conversation with them was fun and exciting, and he quickly found routine in making fun of either of them for the stupid antics they told him about. In turn, he regaled them with the tales of his adventures, which were met with equal condescending comments from the two men.

Eventually Gilbert got tugged along by Emma toward the dance floor. He was glad that she seemed more interested in the women in their near vicinity than him. She gave him a wink as she caught a pretty blonde’s eye and danced off in that direction. Gilbert took it as an excuse to head to the bar and order something else to drink.

It was jam-packed, too many people either wanting drinks or hitting up anything that had a pulse. He jammed his elbow in between two twinks, both shifting away to give him the space he needed, and he squinted at the alcohol presented behind the bar. He had no idea what Antonio had gotten him before, but he didn’t feel like having beer and doing shots on his own was just pathetic.

Before he could flag down the bartender to ask for his opinion, an elbow was jammed into his side and he was neatly pushed into the twink to his left. He gave them an apologetic smile and was about to offer them a drink in compensation for the one he’d spilt down their shirt, but he stopped short of the voice angrily speaking Italian behind him.

He turned, catching the eye of the other twink, who looked _very_ much like the man hissing at him. That other man was none other than Lovino if the angry scowl was anything to go by, looking far less pristine and far more like someone doing meth in a bathroom stall. His hair was dishevelled, his shirt had a dark spill on it, the jacket tied around his waist was ravelling along the edges, his jeans seemed two sizes too big and tucked into the edgiest leather boots Gilbert had ever laid eyes on.

The twink, whom Gilbert assumed was Lovino’s brother and one of the reasons of his being in Germany, said something, looking momentarily at his brother before looking back at Gilbert. Lovino paused, turned his head as if the peek what had caught his brother’s eyes, then seemed to do a double take and completely spun around to face him.

“Hi,” Gilbert said, leaning on the bar in a very fake attempt of being suave.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Lovino hissed, his German worse than before, “are you doing here?”

“Man can’t order a drink?”

Lovino gave him a very long, calculated stare before scoffing. “Man can’t seem to choose a drink.”

“It’s an important decision!”

Lovino’s brother decided to enter himself into the conversation at that point, introducing himself as Feliciano in far better German than Lovino could ever hope for. Not that Gilbert minded Lovino’s accent one bit. Frankly, with the amount of alcohol pulsing in his blood, it was a bit of a turn-on.

“So, how’d you meet?” Feliciano asked, grinning from behind his brother’s shoulder.

Lovino pursed his lips, eyes falling away from Gilbert and he wondered what was up with that. But he figured he should make a good impression on Feliciano because hopefully, now that he had miraculously caught Lovino again, they might be seeing more of each other.

“Today actually!” he said. “At a record store in my street.”

Feliciano made a noise that was drowned out by the stereo. To make up for it, he leaned his head on Lovino’s shoulder. “Really? What kind of music do you like?”

As Gilbert thought of how to explain his broad taste in music, Lovino turned toward his brother and muttered something into his ear. Feliciano tilted his head, eyes going back to Gilbert before settling on his brother’s again. He grinned, squeezed Lovino’s shoulder and hopped off the barstool, vanishing into the crowd.

“Uh?”

“So?” Lovino asked, staring Gilbert down.

“So, what?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You want a serious answer to that?”

Lovino muttered something and Gilbert figured he needed something more to drink. He caught the bartender’s eye, then paused because he _still_ didn’t know what to order. He looked at Lovino for help.

He sighed, touching his forehead briefly. “Two screwdrivers,” he supplied and the bartender nodded. Gilbert appreciated the vodka bottle being pulled down from the shelf, so he didn’t care what the remainder entailed.

Lovino kicked him to catch his attention and made a wild gesture to indicate for him to answer the goddamn question.

“Oh, well, my friend forced me to tag along with another friend as a…” he trailed off, not entirely sure whether he should tell the reason for the pick-me-up was him, but the look Lovino gave him more or less forced him to blurt it out anyway.

Lovino blinked and a nice, red flush coloured his cheeks. He reached for his glass and sipped it, seemingly trying to hide his reaction.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s… dumb.”

Gilbert hummed, allowing a small smile as he grabbed his own drink. Lovino seemed to still be recovering from his earlier words, so Gilbert glanced around the room for a bit. He saw Emma had really hit it off with the blonde, both doing more grinding than dancing. She caught his eye and winked again. He raised his glass in cheers.

Lovino had followed his gaze. “Your friend?”

“More of a friend’s friend,” Gilbert muttered over the rim of his glass.

Lovino frowned, then stepped closer. “What?” he said, a little too loud now.

“Sort of!” he yelled back.

Lovino rolled his eyes, not bothering to step back. Gilbert didn’t want conversation to die out again, considering what had happened last time, but with the pounding bass and the throng of people, Gilbert wasn’t exactly sure whether the yelling would be worth it. So instead he leaned a little closer still, bending a little so he could speak in Lovino’s ear.

“Do you want to dance?”

Lovino stood very still, but said, “No.”

Trying not to let his disappointment show, Gilbert wanted to move back again, but Lovino’s fingers curled around his bicep, keeping him still. He turned his head a little, his cheek smooth where it brushed Gilbert’s stubble.

“But I’d like to go outside.”

Lovino’s breath on his ear brought shivers down Gilbert’s spine and he allowed himself to be pulled along through the mass of people and out the door. The cold air immediately brought him back to his senses and he wondered what Lovino intended to do out here.

“So, uh—”

“Sorry,” Lovino said, staring at the ground, ears still red. “I don’t— _can_ _’t_ do the whole… public thing.”

“Public thing?”

Lovino made a vague gesture with his hand. Muttering something Italian, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the line of people waiting to enter Lucky Eight. Gilbert caught on.

“Oh,” he said, then chuckled. Lovino shot him a look that conveyed both panic and anger, but Gilbert raised a hand before he could protest. “For a guy who seems constantly ready to fight, you’re a little shy, aren’t you?”

Lovino sputtered, the flush now not only embarrassment it seemed. “I’m from Italy. People like us don’t just—” he threw up his hands and finished his sentence in Italian. After Gilbert’s blank stare, he added, “I don’t know how to say it in your piss language! I don’t know if your language even has words for it with the way you Germans work.”

“Hey now, that’s stereotypical!”

“So you do understand what I’m saying?”

“I can take a gander,” Gilbert said and reached for Lovino’s hand.

Lovino let him take it, though he got considerably more red at the touch. Gilbert found it incredibly endearing and couldn’t help but ask, “Would you like to come over?”

“What?” Lovino almost ripped his hand from Gilbert’s if Gilbert hadn’t realized how that had come out.

“No, no!” he yelled, then paused when Lovino flinched and continued softer, “What I meant was if you’d like to come over _and_ listen to music!”

Lovino relaxed, his shoulders falling away from where he had hiked them up to his ears. He stared at Gilbert though, as if he didn’t quite understand what he was saying. Gilbert doubted it had anything to do with Lovino’s lack of German because if Lovino went to record stores, “listening to music” must have been one of the first phrases he had picked up.

“What?” Lovino repeated, softer now and simply confused.

“Listen to music? You know, that stuff you were browsing this afternoon.”

Lovino kicked him, then snorted at Gilbert’s offended look. “Yeah, I know. Just… what are you, twelve?”

“Thirty, actually,” Gilbert chirped and dodged the second kick aimed at his shins. “And come on! I bought that album you were holding before you left! I haven’t had time yet to listen to it, so we could do it together!”

Lovino tried to hide a laugh, but ended up choking at the effort. “You’re such a kid!”

“Now, Lovino, that’s not how you speak to your elders.”

There was another choked sound coming from Lovino as he slammed a hand against Gilbert’s shoulder. It was probably meant to make him stop, but Gilbert was now fully set on making him laugh. “You don’t know how old I am.”

“Are you older than me?”

“…No.”

“I do think I see grey hairs, though.”

This time Gilbert caught Lovino’s hand before it could make contact and they ended in some strange wrestling match in which Lovino seemed intend on wrestling him to the ground while Gilbert had to dig his heels in the ground to prevent that. Lovino was a lot stronger than he looked.

“You take that back, bastard! I’m fucking twenty-seven; there better be no grey hairs!” Lovino hissed, though he struggled through the laughter. “They’re probably coming from your white fucking head.”

“Let me check to make sure!” Gilbert hummed, then decided to drop all pressure against Lovino’s arms so he fell forward against his chest. Gilbert took the opportunity to pick at some of the curls sticking up, rolling the strands between his fingers.

Lovino stood very still, his nose pressed against Gilbert’s collarbone. Gilbert had decided not to hold him because he didn’t want to force Lovino into situations he didn’t like, but the shaky fingers that once more curled around his arm told him that it wasn’t unwanted.

“Yes,” Lovino breathed then, keeping his head down. “Let’s listen to good music instead of the crap inside.”

Gilbert grinned, grabbing Lovino’s hand and tugging him along to his apartment a few blocks down. He babbled about all his records, Lovino giving him his critical opinion of every single one of them.

“Next time I get to criticize yours,” Gilbert said as they stepped out of the elevator.

“There’s nothing _to_ criticize.” Lovino grinned. It was much more confident now that they were in private and Gilbert couldn’t wait until they were safely tucked out of sight inside his apartment.

Pushing the door open, he gestured for Lovino to enter first, watching as he picked his way across the laminated floor to the record collection in the corner. He threw his jacket over the back of a chair and sat down on the floor, pulling off his boots and tossing them into a corner. Done with shedding half his attire, he turned around to Gilbert’s collection and pulled out _Night and Day_.

Gilbert dropped down next to him, grinning as Lovino swallowed when their knees brushed.

“I thought you weren’t a Joe Jackson fan?”

Lovino gave him a sharp look, fingers tracing the abstract cover art absently. “You have no Costello.”

Gilbert laughed, pinching Lovino’s side to get a breathy chuckle out of him. “No, but I do have Metamorfosi.” He waggled his eyebrows and got up again, remembering he had left the album on the table. When he returned, he paused at the sly smile Lovino was throwing his way. “What?”

“So do I,” he said, leaning back on his hands after having returned the album to the others.

“Again, what?”

Lovino laughed, watching as Gilbert slowly took the record from the sleeve and placed it on his player. He had to fiddle a little with the needle because the things was so damn old, but soon the first dulcet notes of an organ echoed through the apartment and Gilbert dropped back down next to Lovino.

He had his eyes closed, clearly listening to the music, but he opened them again when Gilbert accidentally brushed his arm against his.

“I have two of their other albums, _Paradiso_ and _Purgatorio_ ,” Lovino said. “I had kind of given up on finding _Inferno_ because it’s so much older.” He sighed. “Guess I still won’t have it now.”

“Well, I mean…” Gilbert coughed. He had almost blurted out something stupid, like saying that if they were dating, it was technically his too.

“You mean?” Lovino prodded, leaning just a little closer.

“You know.” Gilbert gestured, nearly knocking down the fern that was sometimes his only companion in the struggles of life. “Shit!”

“I know?” Lovino was relentless, and unimpressed as Gilbert scrambled to save his best friend.

Gilbert made a noise, feeling the heat creep up his neck and colouring his ears. Lovino’s stare burned and he wasn’t sure whether he really wanted to plunge in that deeply immediately. Stupid really, because Gilbert didn’t just share his musical collection with anyone, definitely wouldn’t have let just anyone touch them. But beside Lovino’s frankly impeccable musical taste, he knew virtually nothing of him.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he blurted the moment his eyes met Lovino’s.

Lovino opened his mouth, confused, but then he hid a snort behind his hand. “Okay. What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Whatever you think is important for me to know about you.”

“That sounded stupidly German.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s said in German.”

Lovino dug his elbow into Gilbert’s side, but laid his hand on Gilbert’s after, a smile playing at his lips. It really made him look beautiful. “Fine. You’ve met my brother. We’ve been here for five years now. I have a degree in economics that I hate, but I have a well-paying job so I can’t complain. I do the cooking at home because Feli is always gone God knows where and I would love to have a garden someday.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Oh, and I love cats.”

Gilbert snorted and Lovino turned so their knees now touched. He leaned forward, eyes bright.

“It’s your turn now,” he said.

It took a moment for Gilbert to stop laughing, but when he did he reached for Lovino’s hand again, laying it in his lap. “All right, then. I have a brother too, Ludwig. He just started university to become a lawyer. Lived in the countryside for most my life, but we had to move to this city after my parents died and I had to take care of Lutz somehow. I have no degree beside high school and I can’t cook potatoes to save my life. I’d love to have a record store of my own one day, but I doubt that’ll ever happen.” He paused too, watching as Lovino nodded slowly, taking it all in. “Oh, and I prefer dogs.”

Lovino laughed, not even bothering to hide it. He muttered something Italian before shifting just a little closer, untangling his hand from Gilbert’s as he did so.

“Ah, there we go. Incompatible,” he said and if he wasn’t smiling as broadly as he was, Gilbert might have been offended.

“Because I like dogs?”

“Yeah.”

“Dogs are better than cats!”

“No, they aren’t. You just suck.”

Lovino grinned and it was so horrendously confident that Gilbert couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to those mocking lips. Lovino didn’t seem to mind and simply continued being cheeky after Gilbert pulled back.

“Your kissing sucks too.”

“Hey!”

But Lovino reached a hand up to brush along his jaw, then gently traced the shell of his ear before settling at the back of his neck. He pulled him forward and kissed him, tilting his head just so that he could pry open his lips and lick his way inside. Lovino paused a moment later, pulling back just a little.

“That’s better,” he muttered, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his lips. 

“Shut up,” Gilbert said and kissed him again, pulling Lovino into his lap and placing his hands on his hips.

Lovino reacted willingly, his free hand reaching for the top buttons on Gilbert’s shirt. Gilbert just ran his hands along Lovino’s sides before yanking his t-shirt from his pants and continuing his ministrations on bare skin.

When Lovino started trailing kisses down his throat, Gilbert sighed and he wondered if they should take this to the bedroom, but then Lovino stopped.

“Um,” he said, swallowing as he pulled away a little more. “Let’s…” He frowned at the red mark he had left at the base of Gilbert’s throat. “Slow.”

“Slow?”

“Down.”

Gilbert laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Lovino’s cheek. “Okay!”

Lovino pulled a face and made a noise of protest as Gilbert made an attempt to stand. “Slow down, not stop!”

“Yeah, but the A-side’s done and that player is ancient, so like—” He was interrupted by a kiss before Lovino shifted away again and gestured for him to get going. So he stumbled across the floor and stopped the player, returning the needle to the side. “Do you want to listen to the B-side or…” He trailed off as he turned back to Lovino.

Lovino raised an eyebrow, not doing anything but looking at Gilbert with those wonderfully golden eyes. “What?”

“Would you like to stay over?”

“What happened to slow?”

“I mean, like, sleep. Over.”

“You really are a kid.” Lovino sighed, leaning back on his hands again. He looked like such a punk that Gilbert almost wondered if he had actually picked up the same business man in a suit from that afternoon. “But sure, whatever.”

“Cool.” Gilbert still stared at Lovino though, and he stared back, glancing between the record in Gilbert’s hands and his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just… wondering what happened to that nice three piece suit.”

Lovino glanced down at his attire, another blush spreading on his cheeks as he picked at the loose fabric of his pants. “Oh, yeah. Uh, bad influences?”

“Are you blaming me?”

“I could see more leg than denim with those jeans of yours.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, deciding that they’d listen to the B-side another time. He carefully returned it to its sleeve and placed it next to the player so he wouldn’t forget. When he returned to Lovino, he held out his hands. “Seems to me you had those long before you met me.”

Lovino sputtered, but took his hands, if a little curiously, letting himself be pulled up. “Well, what about you then!”

“I felt like dressing nicely for going out!”

“Liar.”

Gilbert tugged Lovino along to his bedroom. Lovino watched as he unbuttoned his shirt , but turned away with a bright flush when he peeled off his trousers.

“Do you want to wear something of mine or are you gonna sleep in those?” Gilbert asked, finding his old Rammstein t-shirt he preferred to sleep in under his pillow. He wondered if he should put on some jogging pants as well, to make it less awkward for Lovino.

“No, um, I…” As Gilbert glanced at Lovino, he found him playing with the hem of his shirt. “Prefer to sleep in my boxers. Unless that makes you uncomfortable.” Lovino glanced up quickly, as if trying not to stare at Gilbert’s admittedly sexy legs for too long.

“No. But then I get to as well,” Gilbert said with a grin, gesturing to his heart-adorned underwear.

Lovino snorted, face burning, but did start undressing himself. Gilbert didn’t know whether to keep looking or get underneath the covers because his balls were beginning to freeze a little. Lovino seemed to notice the same things.

“Good God, don’t you have a heater?” He shivered as he threw his shirt into the corner. He started undoing his belt, but stopped when he noticed Gilbert’s eyes were still on him. “What?”

Gilbert shook himself, pushing back the covers and slipping into bed. He had one of those beds that pretended to be made for two, but was really just an extra large single, so he figured they would stay plenty warm throughout the night.

“I do, but it isn’t winter, so I don’t want to waste money.” He patted the space next to him. “We’ll just have to snuggle if you want to stay warm.”

Lovino pursed his lips, but stepped out of his pants, which joined his shirt in the corner. He pulled back the covers, letting in a fresh bout of cold air, making Gilbert whine.

“It’s what you deserve,” Lovino said as he joined him, huddling closer until Gilbert pulled him into his arms. He pressed his nose against Gilbert’s collarbone.

Gilbert hummed, deciding that he didn’t want a mouthful of curls, as tantalizing as their chocolate colour may seem.

It didn’t take long before Lovino fell asleep, his breath tickling Gilbert’s shoulder. Gilbert hadn’t slept in the same bed with anyone for years, except when Lutz had had nightmares, but that stopped when he had been eleven. Then he had been too busy being a proper authoritative figure toward his brother to have over company and suddenly he was thirty with nothing but his house plant and his record collection.

He tightened his arms just a little more and Lovino mumbled something, but didn’t otherwise stir. Pressing his nose against Lovino’s hair, Gilbert closed his eyes.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I am well aware some of the jokes won’t actually work in German, but as if I’d let that stop me.  
> Comments, as always, appreciated :D
> 
> Note on albums and bands for the curious:
> 
>  _Foxtrot_ by Genesis - British prog rock band. Album released in 1972. I saw an amazing cover band perform this album in its entirety (even the incredibly musically complex and 22-minute long “Supper’s Ready”). “The Firth of Fifth” is a song from the album _Selling England by the Pound_ and there’s a gorgeous piano version on the tubes by Massimo Bucci.
> 
>  _Moonmadness_ by Camel - British prog rock band. Album released in 1976. Saw the band perform this very album in its entirety live in June and couldn't help myself.
> 
> Joe Jackson - British singer well-known for his new wave music and jazz influences. Gilbert makes an insanely obscure reference to the song “Real Men” in which Jackson sings, “Golden earring, golden tan / Blow-wave in the hair”. It's also a song associated with 80s gay culture, especially the album _Night and Day_ from which the aforementioned song originates.
> 
> Kraftwerk - German band most well-known for the 22-minute song “Autobahn”; not so much prog rock but electronic pop, though the band does find its roots in Krautrock and thus prog rock.
> 
> Elvis Costello (& The Attractions) - British singer similar to Joe Jackson but without the jazz. His collaboration with The Attractions was mostly his music during the early 80s which is what Lovino is referring to.
> 
>  _Secret Treaties_ by Blue Öyster Cult - American hard rock band that occasionally crossed the border to prog rock. Album released in 1974, but the band is most renowned for their next album _Agents of Fortune_ which contains not enough cowbell but does contain “(Don't Fear) The Reaper”.
> 
>  _Trilogy_ by Emerson, Lake  & Palmer (ELP) - British prog rock band and considered one of the most successful prog rock bands in the 70s. Album released in 1972.
> 
> The Smiths - British indie rock band. Part of the “depressive 80s” demographic. Morrissey has no chill.
> 
>  _Inferno_ by Metamorfosi - Italian prog rock band. Album released in 1973 and is based on Dante’s _Inferno_ of his _Divine Comedy_. They released _Paradiso_ in 2004 and _Purgatorio_ in 2016.
> 
>  _Nina Hagen Band_ by (surprise surprise) Nina Hagen Band - German rock band. Album released in 1978. “Unbeschreiblich weiblich” is probably the most well known song. What Gil meant with that it was unsuitable for him is that it’s about a pregnant woman taking a pill to get rid of the baby because she doesn’t want to fulfil her “duty”. She’s also originally from East Germany, hence the connection, though it wasn’t until after she fled she made an album worth listening to.
> 
> Rammstein - German rock band. The members were also originally from East Germany. Also saw them live once and, boy, I don’t think any live performance could ever top that.
> 
> I won't pester you further, but simply felt the need to add a little insight and in case anyone was curious as to what I listen to when I write :D


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